


Arrival

by Noel_Cassidy



Series: Uzushio Survivors [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Gen, Hiruzen likes to give his ANBU minor heart attacks, I mean it's Naruto, Jiraiya is a sneaky jerk of a spy, Uzushio Survivors AU, but in a good way, past character death referenced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-10 23:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20536298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noel_Cassidy/pseuds/Noel_Cassidy
Summary: Uzushio may be dead and rubble, but some of her people still survive.In which an Uzumaki makes his way to Konoha.





	Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: 5/21/20 Fixed teeny thing for continuity reasons. Also formatting.

Menma dropped heavily onto the seat in the bar’s private room, falling into a slouch that he hadn’t quite been able to shake for a full three months now, too tired to particularly care at the flicker of chakra that activated the privacy seals placed here by the room’s other occupant.

Jiraiya looked him over and blinked. “You look like hell.”

“Tired.” The red-head rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

There was a snort, the sound of liquid being poured, and Menma looked up as the little cup was placed firmly on the table in front of him. “Of?”

Menma shrugged, tapping the relatively clean ceramic with a finger idly, his face resting in his unoccupied hand. “Everything. I haven’t really been able to stop looking over my shoulder since the whole Kumo fiasco, though.”

Jiraiya winced. “Yeah, that’d do it.” He took a sip and let out a long, contented sigh. The silence between them stretched out, not quite comfortable but not exactly awkward either, possibly due to Menma’s sheer exhaustion and inability to care. He’d almost managed to doze off when the older man shifted abruptly and one of the red-head’s eyes snapped to him.

“I’m taking you out of the field.”

_That _ made Menma wake up, although he kept his exhausted slouch. “Why?”

“Because there is a difference between looking like you just walked _ through _ hell and appearing to be a permanent resident,” he said dryly, snagging the bottle, although his eyes stayed on Menma. “You need a chance to _ rest _.”

“I sleep,” the red-head protested a touch sullenly, but it was mostly out of habit. “Sometimes. I think.”

The snort that answered him didn’t actually have much humor in it. “Getting knocked unconscious doesn’t actually count, kid, even if it is done by a medic.”

“Then I apparently haven’t slept in ten years. My whole life is a lie.”

“Getting back to the _ point _,” Jiraiya said, clearly amused, though his teaching face was firmly on, “you need to spend some time in a place where you don’t have to worry about someone sticking a kunai in your back.”

The red-head muttered his impolite opinion about the obviousness of _ that _ statement under his breath.

“I’m sending you to Konoha.”

Menma fixed the white-haired Sannin with a flat look that held just the slightest hint of bitterness. “Yes, just what the doctor ordered for paranoia— being in a Village full of shinobi who don’t know me.”

“There’s a difference between _ watching _ and actively _ plotting _ , kid.” Jiraiya’s expression didn’t change from its implacable stare, though. “You need to get _ out _ of the field, especially considering you’ve basically been there since you were _ eight _.”

Well, Menma wasn’t exactly able to argue with _ that _. He started to take a sip.

“Not to mention, you’ve racked up a pretty sizable amount of mission pay. You’d have to go to Konoha to get that cash, anyway.”

Menma sucked in a breath and promptly began coughing. The old man was going to _ pay _ for that one. Nearly inhaling _ water _ was bad enough; the burn the sake left was going to hang around for a ridiculous length of time.

Jiraiya just glanced over at him as he topped off his cup, and for the life of him Menma couldn’t tell if the innocence was genuine or faked. The amusement definitely was, but that little tidbit might have been something Jiraiya had expected Menma to have figured out on his own. “Kid, you and the rest of your crazy bunch have been pulling A and S ranks for me on behalf of Konoha, especially since the war ended. You think there wouldn’t be compensation?”

“Yes,” Menma said bluntly. “You’re a cheapskate.”

Jiraiya opened his mouth to object, then closed it and winced. “Yeah, okay, I am, but _ I’m _ not the one paying here. _ Konoha _ is. Although,” he admitted, with that particular emotional mix that made Menma internally sit up, “there is a bit of a… personal bonus for what you and your friends did in Ame. That… that was… thank you.”

Menma did not blow that thanks off like he might have even just a few years ago because after you’d lost as many people as they both had, you knew the weight of even just one more person you cared about being kept alive and it sure as _ hell _ wasn’t a thing to make light of. He saluted Jiraiya and downed the little cup of surprisingly good sake instead.

“I’m going to start cycling the rest of your group out soon,” Jiraiya continued. “You’ve all been racking up a little _ too _much notoriety for me to be comfortable leaving you out there.”

“And you’re sending us all to Konoha?”

“Have any better ideas?”

Menma scowled. “No.” Yokohama was an option, technically, but the last thing Menma wanted to do was drag Kumo or, worse, _ Kiri _ down on the little fishing village that was the last and closest (and most stubborn) settlement near the ruins of Uzushio.

Jiraiya stood up and walked over to set a large, warm hand on his shoulder. “Kid, you _ aren’t _ your old man. I know that if you decided you couldn’t stand Konoha, you’d be able to get out and they’d never be able to find you. But just… try?”

Menma sighed, too tired to even attempt the argument that normally followed. And Jiraiya was asking— _ genuinely _ asking, not a suggestion that was really a politely phrased order. “Fine.” Jiraiya was right, too, as loathe as he was to admit it. He _ did _ need to try, otherwise he probably _ would _ become his old man and that…. Menma loved his father, he really did, but he’d let his grief and anger fester into bitterness and _ that _ had led to stupid decisions that had gotten everyone in the _ village _ killed. Menma had a responsibility to the Uzushio survivors he’d picked up to _ not _ let that happen, and if that meant ignoring what was probably _ years _ of his father drunkenly ranting about how Konoha had abandoned the remnants of Uzushio and left the Uzumaki to die when he _ knew _it was more complicated than that, then so be it.

Jiraiya had always been pretty vocal about trying to convince Menma and the few surviving clanmates he’d found to at least _ visit _ Konoha in the near decade since they’d started working for the man, and it wasn’t like he’d stopped since the war had ended. If anything, he’d been brought it up more often, especially about a year after the war had ended.

After the Yondaime Hokage died, to be exact.

It probably had something to do with some sort of responsibility Jiraiya felt towards surviving Uzumaki; anyone with brains knew the man tended to see his students as his children— _ especially _ Namikaze Minato, who was both a genin and apprentice to the man— so it made sense that he would feel some level of responsibility for what was essentially his daughter-in-law’s surviving family, no matter how distant. If he knew there were any true Uzushio survivors left alive, he’d probably try to help them, too, but neither Menma nor anyone else had ever said anything, a little bit from paranoia, but also just habit.

Or it could have just been to avoid Menma’s current state. Spies could get battle fatigue the same as normal soldiers, and it was usually a little sneakier than it was when someone was simply fighting.

“So what kind of warm welcome can I expect?” Menma kept his tone only _ slightly _ sarcastic and Jiraiya returned the courtesy by not gloating obnoxiously.

Considering the man’s quiet satisfaction at winning an argument that had persisted for their entire professional relationship was more than enough to grate on Menma’s nerves, he appreciated the restraint.

“Just a quick pass through T&I on arrival— more a formality than anything else— a probation period, and an assessment before you get added to the mission roster Normally, it’d be a little more involved, but you’ve been working _ for _ Konoha and you’re an Uzumaki besides. I’ll send a message so the Hokage knows you’ll be coming— including your specialties— and you’ll have another one with you to confirm that you’re the person I was talking about.”

Menma shot him a look. “_ All _ my specialties?”

“Yes, _ all _ of them. I don’t want to have to run across half the Elemental Nations to bail you out of Ibiki’s full treatment because the Hokage finds it suspicious that you claim a certain mastery when it actually _ is _ just a coincidence.”

He grimaced. “Fair point.”

“I’m not saying you have to have it as part of your standard introduction, kid, but the Hokage, at least, should know about it and he can decide who else needs to know.” Jiraiya paused to consider that thought. “Probably just the Jounin and ANBU Commanders, but he might inform the Council as well; smells a bit less like a set-up that way.” He finished off his cup of sake while Menma begrudgingly allowed him that point. “Also, please don’t leave your clan name off the paperwork.”

Menma looked up, puzzled. They'd danced around his being an Uzumaki for the entire ten years of their working relationship; Jiraiya had never asked one way or another and Menma hadn't confirmed it, but as far as he knew, he'd never done anything to leave the old man with the impression that he would _deny_ it. “Why would I do that?”

Jiraya looked… relieved. Just a subtle touch that was barely noticeable under the quiet amusement as the older man kept his attention on the business of pouring himself more sake. “Just checking. Thought you might have been so paranoid you’d forget.”

For all that he _ had _been that bad in the past, that… wasn’t the only reason for that comment, Menma was sure, but Jiraiya hadn’t become an old spy of a ninja by being easy to read, even for someone with an odd edge like Menma.

“You normally aren’t so… obvious about poking like that.”

There was an flash of emotion from Jiraiya— some odd mixture of regret, anger, resentment, and guilt— that vanished behind a wide cheesy grin. “Well, I’m not going to have much of an opportunity to do it _ subtly _ anymore, am I?”

Menma did his best to pretend he hadn’t noticed anything, pouring himself another cup of sake. “You finally won the damn argument, Old Man, so stop gloating or you won’t know what color your hair actually is.”

The speed with which the Toad Sannin shut up was gratifying at least, although Menma himself was not solely responsible for it. Most of that was the influence of Kushina-sama.

Menma was rather disappointed he’d never been able to meet his cousin. The war had been going on and he’d thought the work he’d been doing for Jiraiya had been a little more important than meeting a cousin who was already safe and already had a family. Or, well, _ less urgent _ , certainly. _ After the war _ , he’d promised himself, and then he’d been running all over to make sure those treaties written out in blood stuck because while most of the Villages hadn’t exactly had the resources for more open war anymore, sabotage was _ always _ possible and far harder to catch wind of than companies of shinobi moving through the landscape and then there had been that whole thing in Ame that he _ still _ didn’t quite know what to think of (and hadn’t told Jiraiya _ quite _ everything about because of a possible conflict of interests)—

And then the Kyuubi Attack. The death of the Yondaime and his wife to defeat the bijuu. He’d been born a year after Namikaze-sama and now he’d outlived the man by three, the same for Kushina. Menma couldn’t bring himself to regret his choices though, and he wasn’t sure what that said about him.

Jiraiya nudged him with a shoulder. “You’re going maudlin.”

“So what? You get smashed every October and that’s only a little over a month away.” Menma finished his cup, but shoved it out of reach, not really interested in heavy drinking, even if it _ was _ good sake and he didn’t have to pay for it for a change. “Why don’t _ you _ ever come in from the field, anyway?”

“Still trying to figure out where a certain snake is hiding.”

“Last we’d heard, he’d been sniffing around Ame. Or maybe Rice Country. And that’s just avoiding the question and you know it.”

Jiraiya flashed him another one of those smiles, but slightly more genuine this time and a hell of a lot more salacious. “Ah, but unlike you, I intersperse my business with pleasure. After all, what greater way to relax than in the arms of—”

“Mystery hair, old man. _ And _ I’ll freeze your underwear. In _ salt water _.”

A forty-year-old man should not be allowed to pout like that. “You’re no fun at all.”

“I’m _ married _, thank you very much, and I’m too tired to put up with much of anything right now, except maybe sleep.”

“So, go get some. Head out tomorrow.” Jiraiya produced a scroll from somewhere and sent it skidding across the table. Considering he’d blocked blows from attacking shinobi when he was half _ dead _, catching a scroll when he was half asleep wasn’t all that difficult. Menma hitched his shirt up just enough to get at the storage seal inked onto his left hip and the scroll disappeared into the seal-space with a flicker of chakra.

He shoved himself up and made his slow, weary way to the door, pausing just before he opened it. “Jiraiya?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks. For, y’know, everything.”

There was a distinct note of sad fondness in Jiraiya’s voice when he answered, “You’re welcome, kid.”

Whatever opinions he’d picked up from his father or cultivated on his own, Menma had to admit that Konoha _ looked _ nice. Granted, T&I wasn’t exactly his favored location, but he couldn’t quite think of anyone who _ did _ tend to favor places like that.

Except that one tokubetsu jounin whose name he had either forgotten or never heard in the first place— the crazy purple-haired lady who’d reminded him of Kasumi when she was a bit manic. Or maybe she was a chuunin, but it didn’t matter all that much anyway.

It was just so _ green _ which was rather a weird thing to keep tripping him up, if he was honest, but considering he’d spent most of the last year running between the scrublands and dryer foothills in and near Kumo and a few of Tsuchi no Kuni’s more parched canyons, Hi no Kuni was just _ weird _.

Regardless, he’d passed through his little questionnaire, with barely any sarcasm, subtle or otherwise (hey, even if it was an official question, asking an _ Uzumaki _ if they had any sympathetic feelings towards other Villages was _ dumb _ and deserved the absolutely unimpressed glare he’d given the Yamanaka, along with the flat “No,” and the implied _ are you an idiot _) and then been sent immediately to the Hokage’s office.

At least he’d been given a chance to take a shower before the interview. Reporting back from a mission all gross and stinky was one thing; meeting the person running the village while still smelling like road and everything that went along with that was something entirely different.

Menma’s first impression of the Sandaime Hokage was that of an old, old man who really _should be _retired. Which, to be fair, he had been. Then, he’d come back to his old job during a crisis and stayed because… Well, Menma wasn’t really sure about that, but he’d probably figure it out if he stayed in the village for a while. Surely there was someone else who could have taken the hat when the Yondaime died. There were never _many_ candidates, admittedly, but surely at least _one_ of the jounin….

“Ah, Menma-kun.”

“Hokage-sama.” Menma bowed, deeper than he usually did. “It’s an honor.”

The Sandaime smiled, looking for all the world like a benevolent grandfather and not a canny old ninja who’d led his people to victory through two wars. It didn’t make Menma _ wary _, or at least not any more than he usually was, but there was a very subtle edge to the man’s presence that kept Menma from being able to relax completely.

One didn’t earn the title of “Shinobi no Kami” by being a pacifist, after all. On top of that, a ninja was considered old if they made it to thirty. The Sandaime was well on his way to being _ twice _ that age and, more impressive, he was _ still _ an S-class threat.

He took the pipe out of his mouth and smiled, warm and (as far as Menma could tell) entirely genuine. “The honor is mine.” He gestured toward the chair on the other side of the table, walking back around to his own. “I was rather curious to meet you when Jiraiya mentioned he was sending you here.”

_That _ made Menma wary, and he didn’t bother hiding it while he sat down. “Why? What’d he say?”

The Hokage’s smile was suspiciously innocent while he poured the tea. “Nothing of any real concern, I can assure you. Although I must admit, I was not aware that your clan encouraged that _ particular _ mastery.”

This was either pure scholarly interest or very subtle fishing or, more likely with The Professor's reputation, both. Nothing nefarious, though, at least as far as he could tell, and it really wasn’t anything dangerous, per se. “They didn’t. I’m not sure most of them knew it existed. The clan head’s line knew of it— although that didn’t mean they held masteries— and one teaching line and that was it. Shishou was….” Menma paused, trying to decide how polite to be about it. “Honestly, calling him a crotchety old prune would be the nicest way of putting it. I don’t think there’s really a genuinely _ polite _ way to describe him that wouldn’t be considered a lie.”

Sarutobi chuckled. “But he taught you all you know?”

“Well, no. He taught me _ most _ of it, but I spent an interesting week and a half trapped in a cave with B of Kumogakure a couple of years ago. He and his partner were able to answer some questions that had never passed with Shishou and that opened up a few other research paths that Jiraiya-sama helped me follow.” Meeting Gamamaru had been _ interesting _ to say the least, and it had been an excuse to get Chika-sama to talk about _ her _ past which was always interesting. The Wolf and Deer elders hadn’t had much to add, but their perspectives were still unique and fascinating, if distinctly non-human.

Hiruzen nodded and then looked at him for a long silent moment, his eyebrows raising as the quiet stretched.

“What?”

“I’m merely surprised you aren’t demanding to see the seal that was used. Most of the sealmasters I’ve met tended to be rather… _ insistent _ upon such things.”

Menma sighed. “I have it on very good authority that the Toads haven’t shut up about the Yondaime’s genius, even after his death. Jiraiya… really only says anything a few times a year, but he has _ also _ never quite shut up about it. Why would I feel the need to check over the work of someone widely acknowledged as a genius? Besides, it’s not like it would ever happen even if I _ did _ ask.”

The Hokage inclined his head with a sad smile. “True, true.” Then he hesitated. “If you are willing to answer… what took you so long to decide to come to Konoha?”

_Why not when you knew of a surviving clan member, _rang unspoken but was heard all the same.

“At first it was… I was young and I’d lost everything and it just… never occurred to me. Also my old man was… bitter.” About Uzushio’s fall, about Konoha’s seeming lack of action, about… well, about a lot of things, really. “After that, when Jiraiya found me… there was the war and it….” He grimaced because he couldn’t think of a way to phrase it to get across what he actually meant. “It didn’t feel… _ important _ , or, well, not _ that _ . Less urgent, maybe?” Menma let out a noise of quiet frustration. “Kushina-sama was safe and had people to look after her and….” He’d been scared too, and unsure of what to think of Konoha really, the way they had turned on one of their own, not to mention everything else he’d taken on, responsibility-wise. “And after….” He snorted. “I kind of thought that after the war ended things would slow down, but _ no _.” He paused and the Hokage chuckled again. “I… can’t really regret it. I mean, I regret that I didn’t get to meet her, but I can’t regret staying out there for as long as I did.”

“I don’t think she would have blamed you,” Hiruzen said gently. “She probably would have held it over your head for the rest of your lives, though. All in good fun, of course.”

Menma met the old man’s twinkling eyes knowingly. “Of course.”

“So what will you do now?”

“I don’t know. Probably set up a seal shop. Or maybe just wait and see what everyone else wants to do. But probably the seal shop.”

“There are a few such establishments in the village already.”

Menma wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, but those aren’t _ real _ seals; that’s just baby stuff.”

_That _ made Hiruzen laugh. “How very Uzumaki of you.”

Menma startled before he remembered that he didn’t have to hide his clan affiliation anymore. He could acknowledge it _ openly _ , if he wanted. He probably wouldn’t out of habit, but he didn’t have to look over his shoulder to make sure that whoever just said ‘Uzumaki’ wasn’t going to turn him over to Kumo or, worse, _ Kiri _.

The Hokage’s smile deepened just a touch. “Will you have any interest in being added to the mission roster?”

Menma took a deep breath. “Probably, but for a little while I think it would be better if I simply adjusted.”

“Or allowed the village time to adjust to you.” That twinkle was back in the Hokage’s eyes. “I am _ very _ familiar with the Uzumaki’s proclivity towards well-intentioned chaos, or simple chaos in general.” There was a pause and then he nodded firmly. “A month, then. To adjust and regain a measure of peace and then we shall see what happens, I think.” He dug around in one of the mountains of paperwork on his desk for a moment, coming up with a reasonably thick stack of papers clipped together. His pipe was placed aside on a little dish while he got down to business. “There is a small apartment made available for you— and I do mean _ small _ — but once the probation period is over, you’ll have to pay for it yourself if you wish to keep it and you _ are _free to find something else if you wish to move elsewhere in the meantime. The information for the account with your mission pay, and…” He ignored Menma’s quiet muttering about sneaky old bastards while he dug around in one of the drawers in the Hokage’s desk, coming back up with an envelope. “A little something to get you started.” He paused long enough to stamp one of the other papers before he folded up another and slid it into the envelope, handing it to Menma along with a rental agreement bearing the Hokage’s stamp instead of a signature.

Jiraiya was a sneaky, sneaky jerk who was going to have bright pink hair next time he stopped in Konoha, Menma promised himself. This had _ definitely _ been in the works for more than a week.

“If you have any concerns, you can leave a message with any of the secretaries and they will pass it on to me. Or I might just use you as an excuse to do something other than paperwork.” He cast the intimidatingly tall stacks of paper a weary, distasteful glance.

“How often do you use that excuse?” Menma asked, amused.

“Oh, whenever my grandson decides to challenge me for the hat.” He tapped the item in question. “Or when someone interesting decides to stop by.”

“So, pretty much any time someone comes into the tower.” Menma said dryly. Hiruzen raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard stories about Konoha, Hokage-sama, _ and _ have a copy of all the other villages’ bingo books. There’s a hell of a lot of colorful characters in there.”

Hiruzen laughed and let out a quiet pulse of chakra and a moment later the door opened, permitting the entrance of a… chuunin, if Menma was recognizing the vest correctly. Or he might have been a career genin. (Jiraiya had shown them examples and Menma _ still _ wasn’t sure what the difference was between the chuunin and jounin uniforms.) His gut said chuunin, if only for the security considerations.

“Hokage-sama?”

“Ah, Taro-kun. This is Uzumaki Menma, a Konoha operative recently arrived to the village for his probationary adjustment period. As he is new to the village, I was wondering if you would be willing to at least escort him to his new apartment?”

Dark eyes set close in a narrow face blinked behind light brown bangs. “Of course, Hokage-sama,” the shinobi said, bowing to the Sandaime and then nodding to Menma as he stood up. “Honda Taro.”

Menma nodded back politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Then he glanced back at the Hokage. That _ sounded _ like a dismissal, but it never hurt to make sure.

Hiruzen stood up, face open and quietly approving.

Menma bowed, deeper than mere respect called for but not quite deep enough to be mistaken for obsequiousness. “I… thank you, Hokage-sama.” He meant for more than just what had been given to him, some of it obvious and some of it not and some of it a mystery even to Menma, although he’d probably sit down and sort through it all at some point.

A warm hand on his shoulder pulled him back up and Menma had a glimpse of deep empathy on the Hokage’s face before the old man pulled him into a hug. It wasn’t much, just a gentle arm behind his shoulders that allowed him to rest his head on the Hokage’s shoulder and just _ breathe _.

It had been… a long time since Menma had done anything as simple as just _ exist _. There was always too much else to consider, plans to make, worries to pacify, stray facts to line up to see if they made a pattern, and others to look after.

Maybe the Hokage _ did _ understand, at least a little bit.

….Jiraiya was still going to have pink hair, though. With _ glitter _ , although he’d have to figure out a way to prepare that ahead of time so the old man couldn’t _ prove _ it was Menma.

He didn’t cry, but he wasn’t exactly breathing all that steadily, either. Menma pulled back after a moment and sucked in one more shaky breath before he mentally pushed it all aside— including the reactions he’d felt from the ANBU hidden in the ceiling or walls or wherever freaking out about the Hokage allowing an unknown to _ get that close_, running the gamut from resigned to angry to a level of incredulity that would leave most people shrieking— and resettled himself. “Thank you, Hokage-sama.”

“You are very welcome, Menma-kun.”

Menma paused in the doorway, faintly incredulous. “Hokage-sama really wasn’t kidding when he said it was small, was he?”

“If I remember, apartments this size were originally intended for highly active ninja, but then some of the civilians jumped on them because they were cheap and easy to take care of,” Taro called from further in.

The apartment, the Chuunin had informed him on the way over, consisted of three rooms— a bedroom in the very back and a kitchen/dining/living room in front with a bathroom sandwiched between them. The sheer compactness of the set-up left Menma wondering if he’d start to develop claustrophobia.

Regardless, he probably wasn’t going to stay in it very long after his probation period. He might keep renting it, but he was thinking of getting a house once Jiraiya started sending the rest of his Uzu-agents out of the field. Or maybe an apartment _ building _. Kami knew the assholes wouldn’t leave him alone. Maybe a shop with an attached apartment for the inevitable all-nighters, and a forge for Tetsuko, as well, if he could get it.

He was getting a little ahead of himself. Menma shook his head and properly entered the apartment.

“I apologize that there’s nothing in the cupboards. All the plumbing works fine, though, and somebody at least brought over _ some _ bedding, so you won’t be sleeping on the floor.” Taro-san came back into the entrance room.

“Eh, that’s fine. I’ve got some field rations leftover, so I can go pick up supplies tomorrow.”

The chuunin didn’t say anything, but his politely wrinkled nose told Menma just what he thought about _ that _ idea.

Menma snorted. “Field _ rations _ , not ration _ bars _. Like hell I’m eating cardboard and glue unless I have to.”

Taro relaxed fractionally. “Good; for a second I thought you were more than a little insane.”

His extraction from Kumo a little over six months ago. How Jiraiya had found him in the first place. That thing in Ame almost four years ago. His trip to Suna a bare month before that. “If you still hold that opinion in six months, I will be genuinely surprised.”

Taro looked at him oddly but changed the subject. “I should really get back to work. Is there anything else you need?”

“Yeah, what’s the policy on the training grounds? Not,” he waved a hand, “the Forest of Death, obviously, but if someone wanted to run a few katas or something like that. Do you just walk onto one and hope no one’s there?”

“Some of them.” Taro frowned absently, looking like he was trying to remember something specific. “A handful of them require permission and some of them with specialized terrain require a reservation. The grounds attached to the Academy are for student use only, of course.”

Menma imagined the result of an Academy student or even a gennin stumbling into a trap a jounin had forgotten to clean up and winced.

“Genin teams have a training ground reserved for them at a specific time, but most of them are generally open. I think 18, 22, and 34 are entirely unclaimed at the moment.” He followed that up with brief directions to each training ground, and a promise to send a list and a map.

Yet another argument for a house— houses had _ yards _ and you could at least run katas without having to worry about someone else randomly wandering through. Usually.

“Anything else?”

Menma paused. “No, I think I’m good. I can always bother some random ninja in the street if I think of anything else.”

Taro eyed him oddly. “If you’re sure, then. Have a good night, Uzumaki-san.”

“Have fun making Hokage-sama do his paperwork.”

The chuunin rolled his eyes and sighed the sigh of someone who dealt with individuals using terrible excuses to justify their behavior on a daily basis.

And then Menma was alone in one of the tiniest apartments he’d ever seen. He was tired, still dragging a little of that general exhaustion around with him that he hadn’t been able to shake for months now in a village he was doing his best to maintain a general neutrality towards until he actually got to know it a little better. Why had he let Jiraiya talk him into this?

Oh, right, sneaky battle fatigue.

He sighed and pulled his tag kit out of its storage seal and started securing the apartment for a temporary stay. He was going to finish off his emergency field rations, fall into bed, and do a little bit of thinking before going to sleep, and while he wasn’t going to do much for the next couple of days— aside from the inanity of _ moving in _ somewhere he could put down a few tentative roots— he would still do some basic training, brush up on some of the clan katas he either knew or had discovered scrolls for. He’d put off the ninjutsu and most of the senjutsu training until everyone was a little less likely to go for a kunai when he inevitably blew something up in his vicinity, though.

  
  



End file.
